One Of My Turns
by Bekquai
Summary: Pre-series. Tsuzuki loses a partner and Tatsumi finds him mourning. Dark and angsty. Tatsumi X Tsuzuki


**Author's Note:** Hey look! Pre-series fic! Wow! Everyone knows that angst as deep as Tsuzuki's doesn't just pop up overnight. He's got _~problems~_, man. So here's a fic that takes place a few years before Hisoka comes into the picture. This is in the same universe as my other fic "Drifting" so if ya wanna read that it might help get couple lines here and there, but it's not a must or anything.  


**Warnings:** attempted Dark!Tsuzuki, angst, more angst, and then for the grand finale a big load of angst.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yami no Matsuei. No profit is being made from this.  
  
  
  
One Of My Turns  
  
  
  
_"Don't look so frightened,  
This is just a passing phase,  
One of my bad days." - One Of My Turns, by Pink Floyd_  
  
  
  
Tatsumi found him in his office. He could tell that the secretary was surprised to see the half-empty bottle of sake on the desk, and the clean soap-and-aftershave scent of him came as a sharp contrast to the nostril-burning odor of alcohol Tsuzuki had become so accustomed to. He wondered how long he'd actually been drinking. Seemed like a long time, but if he was still able to gauge time at all it meant he wasn't drunk enough yet. He watched Tatsumi's expression become disapproving, concern making his eyes softer for all that they narrowed. Tsuzuki smiled crookedly without humor and raised his glass towards his one-time partner.  
  
"Cheers," he said and slammed back the last gulp. It burned going down, and he'd drunk enough that it was bound to burn more coming back up. He knew he'd get in trouble for drinking while on the clock. He couldn't quite bring himself to care.  
  
"Tsuzuki-san, what is the meaning of this?" Tatsumi demanded in one of his more dangerous tones. "And where's Watanabe-san?"  
  
Tsuzuki gave a sharp laugh and waved the file - a manilla folder filled with photographs, coronary reports, victim background information, and other such case details - at him. It was a bit thicker than normal to accomodate for the long follow-up report he'd written explaining the case.   
  
"You mean Kyo-kun," Tsuzuki corrected as Tatsumi took the folder warily. He blearily reached for the bottle, concentrating very hard on pouring a new glass as Tatsumi sat and began to read. Tsuzuki stared at the liquor, swirling it in his cup. He repeated in a whisper, "Kyo-kun," before he took a long drink, hoping that this glass would be the one to numb him fully. It wasn't fair that he should still be able to feel when Kyo and Miho never would feel anything again.  
  
The assignment was one of the messiest he'd ever been given, one about a very shadey cult which had no qualms whatever about using human sacrifices. Yamakawa Shinichi, the deranged leader of the group, was a cruel man and abusive beyond belief. Tsuzuki had met sadistic demons with less apetite for causing pain and suffering. The souls of the people Yamakawa killed didn't return to the Meifu, so Tsuzuki and his new partner Kyo, a twenty-something pyrokenetic with a literally explosive temper, were sent to investigate. They ended up walking right into a dangerous ritual already underway. What no one had realized was that Yamakawa had a long-time lover, Kadori Miho, who had no idea of his secret rituals and murders - until she was the lamb to be offered.  
  
Yamakawa didn't even seem to care  
  
Tatsumi didn't flinch or stiffen when he read the end of the report, didn't even gasp or sigh. He simply finished reading and set the paper on the desk and folded his hands in his lap. He stared at Tsuzuki as if at a loss, eyes sympathetic and not unfeeling but with no real idea of how to convey comfort. Tsuzuki frowned, anger sparking within his heart. Even an empty "It'll be all right," would be appreciated, but Tatsumi _~would~_ just sit in silence. It was so very like him, trying not to demean Tsuzuki's pain with cliched platitudes, but for once Tsuzuki would have welcomed anything to distract him. After a few minutes with only the ticking of the clock to fill the silence, Tsuzuki got fed up.  
  
"There's not even anything left to bury," he muttered. "Not of Kyo-kun, or the girl, or even that asshole who started the whole thing."  
  
"Tsuzuki," Tatsumi finally spoke in a painfully sympathetic tone. "You know it wasn't your fault. It's all in your report; Watanabe-san knew the repercussions of his actions when he initiated the final battle with Yamakawa. Neither of them had the discipline necessary to control the amount of power they were attempting to use; it was bound to get out of hand."  
  
"S'why _~I~_ should've been the one to fight," Tsuzuki slurred, still staring into his glass. "Kyo-kun wasn't ready; he was too hot-headed."  
  
"You know as well as I that he had no defensive magic. You were doing what you were supposed to, which was to protect the girl. It's not your fault she ran out from under your shie-"  
  
"Don't you dare tell me that!" Tsuzuki interrupted, fists banging onto his desk when the building rage struck like a lightning bolt. He was shaking all of a sudden, quivering with the intensity of the fury he felt. The whole situation was so wrong; the loss of his partner, the girl, and then Tatsumi's blase dismissal of the matter as something that just happened accidentally. It was arbitrarily disregarding everything Kyo-kun had been, had done in his life and afterlife, denying that Miho was an innocent who shouldn't have died. As if the entire ordeal was now meaningless. "I was supposed to protect her! That was the whole point, wasn't it?! And I _~failed,~_ Tatsumi!"  
  
"You did your best, Tsuzuki, and that is all anyone can ask of anyone," Tatsumi said slowly, carefully, that controlled tone that showed by inverse correllation how distressed he was. He knew how volatile Tsuzuki was feeling, and Tsuzuki knew he knew. It gave him a sense of fierce accomplishment that he'd managed to shake up the unflappable man, and he felt like pressing his advantage.  
  
He grinned again, the smile more than slightly hysterical as it split his face. He closed his eyes and began to chuckle in a voice that didn't quite feel like his own, leaning his head against the back of his chair and feeling the room spin drunkenly.  
  
"My best, Tatsumi? I thought by now you'd know that no one has ever seen my best," he said in a low voice, his hand reaching into his trenchcoat's - he still hadn't taken it off, it'd slipped his mind - inner breast pocket to finger an ofuda. He traced the paper with contemplative fingertips.  
  
It was times like these that he was tempted, oh so tempted. He had the power to change things, he could feel it within him, roiling and chaffing in the bonds he was so careful to keep. Even Tatsumi's shadow magic was weak by comparison, even Enma Dai Oh was afraid of what Tsuzuki could do. Oh but he wanted to show them exactly what they were afraid of. He could rage and rail and rain down destruction until they _~learned~_ the true value of life, and maybe then they'd know why he hated himself so much for letting them all die when he _~could have stopped it~_ if he'd only been paying _~attention.~_  
  
He'd sin and sin because he was damned already, and maybe that way he could be the monster they needed to show them how wrong they were. They would hate him as they rightly should, instead of being mislead into trusting him. Because he really was faithless and worthless, and they should know better. A wolf in sheep's clothing, to be sure, and it was times like these that the wolf raised its feral eyes and bared its teeth. It would take so little to throw off the disguise; the chains that held his powers in check only stayed on his sufferance, and to rid himself of them would be more a capitulation than an effort.  
  
He slit his eyes open to see Tatsumi looking as close as he ever would be to pale and frightened. The secretary was staring at his hand, knowing what Tsuzuki must be on the verge of doing. His blue-ice eyes clouded, and his face finally cracked from its placid mask.  
  
"Tsuzuki," Tatsumi said in a hushed tone, filling the name with a sadness and melancholy that filtered through Tsuzuki's rage like water through a sieve. "Don't mourn him with bloodshed. It is an insult to his memory."  
  
The hand in his jacket was suddenly shaking, and he let it fall away from the ofuda. He felt himself deflate, the power he'd been gathering into the room now seeping back into the ground. He raised both hands to his face to cover it as he let loose a harsh, choked sob. Which surprised him, because it was only then that he realized he hadn't yet shed a tear. He'd stood over their ashen remains with dry eyes, had come back to the office and written out the report without a single sniffle, and had set about getting drunk with a blank face. The revelation made him even more miserable, more worthless, and he finally gave voice to the broken cries that demanded escape.  
  
"Oh - god. I - I - Tatsumi -"  
  
He wasn't really aware of what he was saying, not even sure if he was saying it or thinking it. He could only feel the pain inside, the loss and guilt, and he needed something else just so he wouldn't break because he was so close in the first place. He knew how tenuous a grasp he had on sanity and tonight it was pulled taut and thin as a strand of spider's silk, the slightest extra pressure would snap it. He couldn't keep this up, he had to feel something else before the sepia of madness and apathy filled his vision and made his eyes as empty and bleak as crushed glass.  
  
And Tastumi was there, and Tsuzuki nearly threw himself out of his chair into the secretary's waiting arms. He buried his face in the taller man's neck, wrapping his arms around and clinging with all the strength in his body. It just wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, and God he'd give anything to feel better, anything at all just please, _~please~_ make the hurting stop - anything to keep him from thinking of how close he'd come to letting go. He let his hands wander frantically up and down Tatsumi's back before they finally twined at base of his neck.

And Tatsumi kissed him hard enough to bruise, and he was so grateful. Tatsumi was here, strong and sure, with hands that were so warm as they began to slide under his trenchcoat to push it off his shoulders. He could always count on Tatsumi, even if it was a lie. Because Tatsumi had never said it back. It hurt even to do this, but this ache was better, more acceptable than the knowledge that he had failed again, nearly losing everything. But things would be okay as long as there was one constant, and this was what he needed right now to forget himself just a little bit.  
  
So when Tatsumi pushed him down onto the desk, he stopped thinking. Thinking could wait until morning, until he was sober and hungover and remembering everything no matter how hard he wished he couldn't. Tomorrow he'd start the parade of new partners over again, so many now that they were faceless and their names bled together, and he knew he'd be calling the next one Kyo-kun for weeks. He'd hide behind his idiosyncracies, and in his own head and heart, he'd loathe himself even more. Everyone but Tatsumi would be fooled because if there was one thing Tsuzuki was good at, it was pretending. But he knew that the day would come when no one would be able to pull him back. These nights of insecurity, days of hidden shame, they wore on him as surely as ocean waves wear the beaches. And he prayed for the time that there would be nothing left even more than he prayed for salvation.  
  
  
  
  
END  



End file.
